Where Buddy and I part ways

I would love to have a cool one word nickname that everybody knew me by. Hi, I’m Tiger, g’day, I’m Chappy. Immediately identified. Not merely in name but in character. I love how one word can so simply capture the essence of the individual. That’s neat. So descriptive, familiar, as if we’ve known each other for years. A soubriquet, by any other name, might be poncy but its designation cannot be ignored.

In sport it’s not as if we need any more familiarisation with players than we already have. We regard them as family, treat them as such in the manner we abuse them and praise them as they pelt around the ground winning our favour and scorning our love. Hell, even the umpires talk to them as if they have been invited around for Christmas lunch. And who amongst us wouldn’t forsake our own family on that cherished day if we were suddenly called to break bread with Chicken Smallhorn? Such is our relationship with sports players and in particular, footy greats.

The sports star with the single-worded moniker is on an all together other level entirely. Warnie, for example, may as well be our brother. In the mould of the no-good, two timing, lying, cheating, dumb ass of a brother for sure, but our brother nonetheless. We cherish his skill and his derring-do, while all the time trying desperately to believe his innate character will change.

So it is, with me anyway, with Buddy. I defend him in a way I can’t remember when I last defended my brother so. Over a five year period he has slowly but surely inveigled his way into my world. From that kid Franklin, looks like he’s got some talent, through the Lance years and into Buddydom.

I can’t pinpoint the moment I chose to forever on call him Buddy but I did resist for a long while. (I had heard that he mother preferred him to be known as Lance and I respected that.) But bugger me, Buddy got the better of me. Both the player and the name. They suit each other. Last year he ran down the wing and flank, bouncing the ball in the rain just one beat ahead of the hapless Bomber chasing to kick an awe inspiring goal and then ten minutes later he did it again but even more in control and knowingly. Would the MCG have reverberated in the same way to screams of Lance as they did to the Buddy roar? I don’t think so and you know I’m right. Buddy is as Buddy does.

Yet, I have reason to pause in my genuflection at the foot of the Buddy love. You can know someone too well. I follow Buddy on Twitter. (Anyway I type that it looks creepy. Moving right along). I follow a number of footy players on Twitter. It’s great fun. You get to know players a little bit more. I know Jordan Lewis loves fishing. And, on his request (to his 2,927 followers) as to a movie to watch last Friday night, I recommended Hall Pass. I thought he would like a no brainer comedy the night before a big game. It’s a good little film.

And this is where Buddy and I part ways, courtesy of social networking. You see Buddy has recommended a new music CD to his 5000 (and growing) followers. That’s cool, we all like a bit of the old time rock and roll. Except, I’m not down with Buddy’s tip. Not by a long way. He has endorsed Zoe Badwi. Who? Right. Who, indeed. He has tweeted us to do ourselves a favour. The last guy who sanctioned artist with that phrase (and likewise had a one word appellation) couldn’t be trusted to know a Pete Andre from a Dead or Alive. Buddy reckons Zoe’s CD is a ripper. I reckon he’s wrong. You know, from now on I might not pay as much attention to Buddy’s music reviewing as I do to his sublime football skills. You see I went on YouTube and watched/listened to a minute of Zoe’s song, ‘Freefallin’. She’s pretty but she aint no Tom Petty. Sorry Buddy, one brother to another.

Because being called Buddy makes him seem more like one of us, a mere mortal. But we know he’s more than that, much more. Buddy is of the gods. And after another magnificent display at the G this afternoon I reckon I’m going to give him one more chance as a Music reviewer …

Buddy’s dad (a fearsome looking chap) is also ‘Buddy’. It is a hand me down nickname.

BTW and for what it’s worth, I declared Buddy a champion after about the first 10 seconds of clapping eyes on him. How Richmond passed up on him is one of Footy’s great mysteries. Maybe they didn’t want to upset Richo.

Rick – I think Robert Murphy would be the only current footballer whom I would pay any heed to for any music recommendations. I too follow a number of footballers – black and white. Their judgement on music and films is generally not to my taste.

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I’ve never been one to take music recommendations from footballers. I once nearly cost myself a Grand Final spot at Balwyn in 1999 when a team-mate pulled the headphones from my ears to hear what my pre-game listening was. Fair to say he wasn’t expecting Beth Orton’s ‘Stolen Car’ from her album ‘Central Reservation’.

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